Retrospective: Paris - What we really want

6.1 Mae West
Fall 1994, Mae's dormitory

Mae wished she could have slept a few hours longer, but the alarm clock's ring was merciless. She'd studied again until late at night to catch up with all the topics she had missed while she'd stayed in Newcrest. And exam time was close again, the second semester was almost over.

She stretched out once more, then got up reluctantly.

It would take some time to get used to college life again.

Still, she was glad that studying kept her distracted from thinking about home too much.

Six months ago, a few hours after she had arrived at Newcrest hospital her mother had died. Mae hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.
The doctors thought the overdose had been an accident. Laetitia West had been often forgetful, she might have taken her dose of sleeping pills more than once last evening by mistake. She hadn't left a farewell note and the signs of her depressions were almost gone since she started therapy.
But no one could exclude that it hadn't been suicide, not even her therapist.

Linda had blamed herself, of course. She had apologized again and again for failing to take care of their mother, calmly, almost stoic, as if she had ran out of feelings.
And Mae had assured her again and again that Linda couldn't have foreseen this.

The next few months felt like in a daze.
Linda was more quiet than usual, she buried herself in studies and books and papers while neglecting everything else, even her own needs. She had been the same when their father had died, but now she seemed to be exhausted too.
So Mae made sure again that the house was kept, food was on the table, the medical bills were paid and the funeral was arranged. Most of all, she took care that Linda ate and slept enough.
Same as Linda, Mae had to keep busy to distract herself from the grief, but instead of books she drowned herself in caring for her sister and occasionally a bottle of wine.

Time passed, and before long summer was over.
Soon Mae got a call from the chef academy that she had to register back very soon for the second semester if she wanted to continue her studies.
It felt like another life had called back.

"You should go back to Paris and graduate," Linda had said. Even in mourning, she was always so reasonable. Or maybe she truly believed that studying was the best way to cope.
But Mae had nothing left in Paris for which she wanted to return. She even had already cancelled her rent contract for the apartment shortly after her mother's funeral.
The chef academy which once got her so excited, seemed bland and pointless now.
The people she once cared so much about were all gone.

Charlotte was in Italy and would still be for a quite a while. And in their rush to the airport both girls had forgotten to exchange phone numbers.
Arthur was still in Norway.
And Francesco –
No.
Mae still didn't want to tell Linda about Francesco.
There was no point to upset her sister when they had other, more important things to worry about.

"It may seem pointless now," Linda had understood Mae's objections, "But that's because we're mourning. But life will go on and you can't push your education forever. Our parents have worked hard to enable us to pursue our dreams and we should honor it."
Mae knew that Linda was right.
And maybe studying wasn't such a bad distraction, after all.

Linda had moved too this fall into their grandmother's old house in Windenburg. It was much closer to the Oasis Springs Botanical Research Center than Newcrest, where she got a position to work further on her dissertation. And in her free time, Linda wanted to take the chance and renovate the house that had been neglected for years.
And once Mae graduated, she would move there too.
She was looking forward to live in the house again where she and her sister had spent so many summers of their childhood.

But until then, she'd live in a school dormitory, very close to the academy, and very far from the street where she once had lived.

It was good like that.

She wanted to start all over.

And here she finally had a big bathroom, with a real shower, even two.
So much better than where she had lived with Francesco.

She was surprised – and relieved – how indifferent she felt when her mind strayed to him again. Not sad at all.
Not that she thought much about him, in the first place.
Sometimes it was just small things that caught her attention. Like cilantro. He hated cilantro, and Mae had never succeeded to convince him otherwise, no matter how artfully composed she made the food.
His loss, she thought, before she moved her mind to more important matters, like how efficient that cilantro cream was for her skin. Her roommate had recommended it against those outbreaks she had due to the lack of sleep. Her cheeks were fresh and rosy again.

But besides that incomprehensible aversion against cilantro, there was nothing she'd hold against him. Mae wasn't mad at Francesco.
He got a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and he would have to be stupid not to take it.
She would have preferred if he’d said goodbye, though.

But maybe it was better that he didn't.
She was sure she would have cried.

She'd rather have him remember her smile.
Would he remember her?

She really wished him all the best.
Maybe one day she would see him on the cover of one of these music magazines. And then she could tell her friends: "Look, I used to live with this guy once. Can you believe he doesn't like cilantro? He'll refuse to eat anything with it, no matter how well you make it."

She giggled, then opened the door to the dormitory kitchen.
It would be another great day with her new friends.
All girls, no more boys.
Mae swore she'd only get involved with a man again if she was certain that he'd never leave her.